Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff.
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